


Own Little Corner

by Arsenic



Category: The Others - Anne Bishop
Genre: Gen, memories of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was too close to losing herself to the isolation and terrifying loneliness, but Simon gave her a home, and slowly she began to understand how to live with others again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Own Little Corner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngeNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/gifts).



> The summary is actually the treatee's request. Not sure how well I did at it, but I tried. Yay, Tess. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

Her kind was never one to run in packs, hunt in prides, gather in murders, but they were not entirely solitary creatures, either. Had they been, Tess would never have come to the Courtyard, certainly would never have stayed. She had not intended to stay, not at first. She had not intended to find herself embroiled with these Others, when she is Other even to them. She certainly had not intended the binding ties she found herself in with Meg, with her human clan.

Then again, she has never had one of the 'Gard learn of her true nature and forgive it, keep it in mind but silent. Henry Beargard, for all that he is a Bear, is something new. She has forgotten what that feels like, the novelty of it, the companionship. 

There was a time when those of her kind congregated in small numbers. There was a time of pairs, of love matches, of life amongst walking death. Her memories of it are becoming fewer, but they are strong, perhaps the strongest aspect of her mind. She alone carries them, and for that reason, she may never leave them behind, never drop them, never let them go.

*

She stumbled upon the Courtyard. It sounds unlikely – it _is_ unlikely – but it is nonetheless true. She'd been on her own, wild and predatory and losing everything that connected her to the world, for so long, it was the scent of something close to her own kind that had drawn her in. The Elementals are the closest thing to what she is, and she can sense their presence for miles and miles.

She hadn't even really wanted to be around them. Elementals are, well, tempermental, and so is Tess. The combination doesn't particularly work out well. But where there are Elementals there are the Wolfgard, and the Beargard, and the Crowgard, at the very least. 

Tess had not expected welcome. Even not in her natural form, her hair is a signal to all that she is something Original, something destructive. But Simon Wolfgard had met her at their gates, evidently having smelled her approach as well, and he had said, "Welcome," and not asked how long she planned to stay.

*

Tess loves the smell of coffee. It is rich, like blood, without the death. Not that Tess minds death. Death is a natural part of the life cycle, even when it comes unnaturally. But at times she wants more for herself, something apart from that. And blood is life, too. Coffee…coffee is energy and companionship. Comfort.

She's not sure when she started thinking of it like that. (No, no, she is sure. It's when Henry brought her into his studio, gave her a cup against the cold, said, "How are you?")

She loves that moment in the morning when the first customer comes in and she's not an anathema, she's not one of _them_ she's simply another member of the Courtyard, a business owner, perhaps amusingly, a barista. The coffee smell is strongest then, when she hasn't acclimated to it, it hasn't soaked into her clothes, the coils of her hair.

Every moment after that is slightly less sweet, but she savors it, all the same.

*

Some nights, alone in her apartment, she loses herself, convinced she's back on her own and has to go down, into the café, into Henry's studio, sometimes even the package room, with the scent of Meg and her guard wolf.

Some nights Simon seems to know, and will join her at the café, make them each some coffee and sit with her. Henry will come down to the studio, create as she sits quietly. Even Vlad will sometimes find her and suggest a book, sit in the shop and read with her.

The companionship is offered in silence, but it is offered. And she takes it, absorbs it as she would life, but unlike the former, she gives it back in kind.


End file.
